


Dating, Dancing and Darkness

by confetticlockwork



Category: Classic Hollywood Movies, Stage Door (1937)
Genre: F/F, If old hollywood was more fun and less homophobic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confetticlockwork/pseuds/confetticlockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A non-canon, post-film indulgence into the latent lesbian undertones of this movie. </p><p>.....or Jean and Terry go dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dating, Dancing and Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Just a light-hearted oneshot focused on Jean and Terry letting loose and allowing themselves to like each other, as opposed to feigning resentment as usual. This was fun to write, and I love the gay vibe I get from Hepburn in basically every movie she's in which features another female character....

“We should go out.”

 

Terry doesn’t look up from where she is folding her linen into her drawer.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“I mean it isn’t fair how you’ve seen me drunk and I haven’t seen you. It gives you an advantage.”

 

Terry looks like she disapproves, glancing over her shoulder at Jean, spread out on her bed, flipping idly through a fashion magazine.

 

“My, that’s a vulgar invitation. If you want to turn to alcohol so quickly we needn’t spend money going out, we could just stay in this room and pass a bottle of gin back and forth.”

 

“Geez, I was only asking.”

 

It’s bizarre, but the venom seems to have drained from Jean’s voice when she talks to Terry these days. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t summon up serious disdain with the ease that she used too. Hmm, she must be losing her touch. That or this girl is growing on her. She’ll put it down to a shortage of space in their shared room.

 

“I’d love to go out with you. I haven’t been out since I got here, not properly. There are some little places I miss. I could take you if you’d like.”

 

Jean watches her touch up her pretty much immaculately tidy side of their room. She has to consciously tone down her smile.

 

“I’d like that I think.” Her tone drops. “I bet I’ll look all kinds of out of place there, though. I might have to borrow some of your clothes just to fit in.”

 

Terry frowns, perfect dark eyebrows drawing together. “You’re welcome to but you really needn’t. We won’t go anywhere too snobbish I promise. Be yourself, I like your style.”

 

“I dress like what I am; a poor actress.”

 

“Ah yes, but you’re pretty enough to pull it off. It’s rather charming to an outsider, I assure you.”

 

Jean raises an eyebrow at Terry’s back. The girl is full of surprises. She’d terrified by the idea that maybe she isn’t the heartless egotist she first thought, as she becomes less convinced this is the case by the second.

 

“Alright. We’ll go out.” Jean heaves herself off the bed and grabs a dress and a hair comb. “I’ll touch myself up in the bathroom. Try to be ready within a half hour.”

 

Terry shoots her a half-exasperated, half-amused smirk at her withering tone, and starts to look through her own clothes for something to wear.

 

000

 

“Me and Randall are going out. We’ll hopefully be back before dance class at 11 tomorrow.”

 

“How come I wasn’t invited?”

 

“Alright. You wanna come?”

 

“No thanks. I don’t have the energy.”

 

“Typical. Causing trouble for the sake of it.”

 

“I thought you didn’t like the girl?”

 

“After the whole Enchanted April fiasco, we sort of bonded. She can take what I give her, and I appreciate that. Besides, we share a room, and she isn’t Linda. We couldn’t dislike each other for long.”

 

“Well good, I knew you’d make good friends. Take her dancing or somethin’. Loosen her up, find her a fella, knock her off her high horse. Or just get her drunk enough that she falls off.”

 

“Oh it won’t be dull, I know that much.”

 

“Don’t be out all night. You’re both bad enough on a full night’s sleep.”

 

“Gee, thanks. I can’t remember why we didn’t invite you.”

 

“It’s a total mystery.”

 

000

 

Jean wears her favourite dress. It isn’t too fancy, not like an opera gown, but nice enough so she can pass for a lady. It’s long, but doesn’t trail, and is a fashionable shade of cream, with off-the-shoulder sleeves, a tight bodice and subtle lace over the skirt. She wears it with her black wrap, and does her hair a little more elaborately than usual, her soft curls shining. She gives herself a satisfactory once over in the bathroom mirror. Her lips are light, somewhere on the border between red and pink, and her skin is as clear as ever.

 

“You scrub up pretty well, Jean. You make quite the fine sight tonight.” Says Eve.

 

“Thanks.” Jean says.

 

“I know.” She thinks.

 

She meets Terry downstairs having shouted up to her to hurry. She’s still double-checking the contents of her purse as she comes down, and it seems she has an inexhaustible supply of clothes, as Jean has never seen this dress before. Its sleeves stop at the shoulder, and the bodice’s cut hugs her figure perfectly, emphasising her narrow ribcage and tempered waist. The skirt is a little looser, and it catches the light in such a way that Jean thinks there are tiny intricate patterns sewn into it in scarlet thread. Her lips are darker than Jean’s. Her hair is looser. She looks irritatingly, effortlessly beautiful.

 

“Well look at us; dark and light, night and day, opposites as always.” Terry comments in the taxi, her gaze raking over Jean next to her.

 

“I hope this night doesn’t end that drastically different for the both of us. I am not coming back without you, nor you me, agreed?”

 

“Of course. Where to first?”

 

000

 

Two bars in and they’re tipsy.

 

Jean promised herself that she’d politely sip on a single drink while steadily forcing more alcohol down Terry. The girl isn’t exactly uptight, but Jean has a feeling that drink will make her looser, hopefully amusingly embarrassingly so. However, she’s rather charmed by the warm hum of New York in summer, and the place they’re in is just the right amount of fancy, and goddamnit she’s actually enjoying herself, so why shouldn’t she let loose a little? They’ve consumed around the same amount at this stage, and witty comebacks and sly smirks have given way to sarcasm, honesty and open laughter.

 

When the fifth man of the evening sidles up to their table and offers to buy them drinks, his friends watching encouragingly from their table, Jean is feeling decidedly more playful than usual. She’s surprised to find that it isn’t these men she wants to have fun with, though, and so she stifles her giggles with her hand as Terry unleashes her acting prowess on another unsuspecting victim, exaggerating another story about why they mustn’t be seen with men that the guy clearly isn’t sure whether to take seriously or not, and so returns to his table, empty-handed and confused.

 

“You’re no less mean when you drink, Randall, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“I’ll take it as a compliment, coming from the Dry Comment Queen herself.”

 

“I’m having a lot of fun.” She laughs, without realising how open she’s being.

 

Terry looks momentarily startled, but smiles in the feline way she does and leans her chin on her hand.

 

“As am I. We make quite the team. New York should be very afraid.”

 

Jean grins, and that’s when she knows she’s definitely lost the upper hand she’d hoped to keep, and so sighs in defeat and stands, smoothing her dress down and swaying slightly as she adjusts to the new height.

 

“I’m buying one more round and then we’re going dancing.”

 

“Oh are we?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Terry laughs at the table as Jean sways over to the bar.

 

000

 

They sit in the corner of a peaceful, atmospheric little bar, the music playing loudly enough to be a presence.

 

“I don’t know how to dance.” Terry admits, stirring what’s left of her drink. “I suppose I just never learned.”

 

Jean tips the rest of her drink into her mouth and swallows, then stands, holding out her hands.

 

“Come on then. I’ll show you, it’s so easy.”

 

Terry looks around. The bar isn’t particularly crowded, not that she would necessarily care if it was. Well, it’s not like an opportunity like this comes up every day, and she feels like she wants to move a bit, so takes Jean’s hands and allows herself to be pulled to her feet.

 

Jean tries teaching her a few tap steps to the upbeat jazz piece playing first, but for such a task to be successful, both parties would need to be sober. It ends in a rather undignified session of kicking and laughing.

 

When the music changes to something more slow and sultry, Jean smiles and nods to herself.

 

“Now listen, Randall, this is good advice I’m giving you here.”

 

“Yes?”

 

She takes one of her hands and places her other on Terry’s waist. Terry’s hand falls to her shoulder as she pulls her into a slower dance.

 

“This kind of dance is perfect for getting something out of someone…for _seducing_ someone. You want him to buy you diamonds and apartments? Maybe you just want him to pay for your theatre school and buy your clothes?” She feels Terry tense at this and smirks in amusement. “This is the one. It’s a staple, you’ve gotta learn at some point.”

 

Terry nods like she’s serious about learning. Her eyes are a little glazed and her cheeks a little flushed, but otherwise she looks to be marginally clear-headed.

 

She pulls her into the dance, taking it slowly, making the steps simple.

 

“I’m the guy, so I lead.”

 

“Typical.”

 

“Hey, don’t blame me I don’t make the rules! I’m just trying to help you for the future.”

 

“I don’t find myself dancing with men all that often.”

 

“Why not? It’s an easy way to avoid having to hold a discussion.”

 

“I haven’t had much cause to. I can’t dance and I appear to be generally the kind of girl men avoid dancing with.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.” She extends her arm, Terry fanning out with it, before spinning back into her grip surprisingly easily. “I bet you’ve been asked before.”

 

“I don’t know, they see I’m rich and can hold a conversation, but lose interest pretty quickly after that. I suppose they don’t like a dominant personality. I don’t like being told what to do.”

 

Jean laughs a little. “I hear you, sister. I’m not so keen on being led in dances. Never been that popular with the guys past appearance myself.”

 

Jean wonders if there is some sort of society for beautiful, headstrong women who frighten men away. She’d like to join.

 

“Alright so spin out, and then back into me.” Terry does so, pulling Jean’s arms around her as she spins into her chest as instructed. “There. You’re getting it!”

 

It’s strange, having another girl pressed against her front like this. Is this what a man feels like? Slightly powerful and protective? It’s a new sensation, and not as unpleasant one, especially when Terry looks over her shoulder at Jean, her gaze heavy under thick eyelashes.

 

They sway in this position for a few seconds longer than necessary.

 

Then Jean clears her throat and Terry shakes her head a little as she spins back out and around to face her again, resuming their dance.

 

“So where did you learn?” Her voice is thicker and lower than usual. It vibrates across Jean’s skin.

 

“Um, in school I guess. I just started one day in the community hall and didn’t stop. I had rhythm, and took tap lessons, and then sort of filled in the gaps myself until I came to Footlights. They said I had a rare gift, that I’d undoubtedly go far. My home town was small and New York is big.”

 

“You are a natural, I’ve seen you. But yes, New York is big…” Terry trails off.

 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, you got a five star gig within a month of deciding to be an actress.”

 

“I got lucky. I think I encouraged others to make a fuss if they want to get noticed.”

 

“I don’t think Powell will thank you for that.”

 

Terry’s dark eyes flick down for a moment, then back up to Jean’s. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark dress, dark lips. Her skins glows against all the dark, and the darkness of the room makes it worse (better). Her voice is sort of dark too, in a smooth, well-mannered way. She’s not dark though, not in a way that’s bad, anyway.

 

“How is your relationship with him? Civil?”

 

Jean laughs it off. “He doesn’t like me at all after I made such a fool of myself. He only gives me work because you tell him to, don’t think I don’t know that.”

 

“I only interfered at the beginning. You make him money, he can’t say no to that.” She spins under Jean’s arm and glides effortlessly back into step. She’s really getting the hang of it. “Besides, I don’t think you embarrassed yourself. I think you were hilarious, as well as firmly speaking your mind.”

 

Jean looks distant for a moment, and not that embarrassed.

 

“You were right. He was a snake.”

 

“Were _you_ right?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Was I one too?”

 

They sway slowly on the spot, and Jean is taken aback by the slight _vulnerability_ in Terry’s eyes. It strikes her then that, despite all the fast talk and bold confidence, Terry moved to the club knowing no one. It’s all well and good for Jean to be sarcastic, moody and occasionally hostile; she’s been there for ages, the girls she bickers with are like family. Terry must feel a little lonely sometimes, being not quite sure whether or not anyone she’s sharing a house with actually likes her.

 

The alcohol must be getting to her.

 

“No. No, you’re not a snake. I’ve seen you honest and genuine. You’re not so bad.” She says softly, like she’s thinking it through.

 

Terry’s smile is certainly genuine. Only small, but definitely real, tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 

“You dance better than he does anyway.” Says Jean, lightening the tone.

 

She swings Terry down into the final flourish, and she completes the move naturally.

 

They don’t fully realise that the song ended a while ago. Must be the liquor.

 

000

 

They get back to the Club a few hours later. The rest of the house sleeps, there’s even no sign of the cat.

 

More drinks followed, and Jean giggles as Terry makes a poor attempt at entering silently, as she shuts the door more loudly than intended, locking it behind her.

 

They stagger up to their shared room. Jean throws her wrap onto the floor when they enter and collapses on her bed.

 

Terry leans heavily against her dresser as she removes her jewellery. She slips out of her shoes and runs a hand through her hair.

 

“New York is wonderful.” Jean drawls from the bed.

 

Terry laughs quietly to herself. _Here we go again…_

 

“I had a wonderful night.”

 

“As did I. We managed to fight off any ne’er-do-wells, or more likely repel them with our unflattering, unfeminine strength of mind.” Terry says ironically  as she slips into her nightgown.

 

Jean watches her change and convinces herself that it’s accidental.

 

“Come on. You can’t sleep in clothes…”

 

Terry heaves her upright and helps with the buttons of her dress, made more difficult by Jean’s swaying.

 

“I had more fun with you than I ever did with Powell…or with those lumber guys…”

 

“I’m flattered. I’ve never…well I’ve never really been out with someone like you. It was a new experience.”

 

‘You’re welcome.”

 

“We’re friends, right Jean?”

 

Jean laughs at herself. “Of course. It’s too difficult to pretend not to like you.”

 

“Glad to hear you might stop trying.”

 

“I can’t make any promises.”

 

“Well I can assure you I’m not a snake.”

 

“I’m not too sure. You seem sly, like you’re hiding something. Maybe you’re just smart…”

 

“So ‘snake’ might not be a bad thing?”

 

She finishes with the buttons, and Jean turns to face her, putting on her own nightgown. Terry helps pull it over her head.

 

“Perhaps not. Maybe you are a snake. A funny, charming snake.”

 

Alcohol makes Terry’s dark gaze darker and her usually condescending, sly smirk into something more lascivious. She’s removed most of her makeup. Her cheekbones are that prominent naturally, Jean thinks bitterly to herself. _A funny, charming, dark, beautiful snake that I’ve decided I like quite a lot_ …

 

Flashbacks to discussion on signs and statues and when everything is _wonderful_ flash through her mind. She feels light and elegant, and also a little daring, and she’s changed her mind about Terry, so decides to take a risk.

 

She places her hands firmly on Terry’s shoulders, leans close, and presses a self-assured kiss on her lips, then pulls away. Terry raises her eyebrows in…not shock…more muted surprise, and she tilts her head on the side and observes Jean curiously.

 

“What was that for?”

 

Jean shrugs and smiles.

 

“’Cause I called you a snake. ‘Cause you had to ask if I was your friend.”

 

“Because you’re drunk? Because _I’m_ drunk?” Suggests Terry.

 

“That too.” She says dreamily.

 

A moment of thought processing flickers across Terry’s face. “Alright.”

 

She takes Jean’s face in her hands and kisses her back, only it lasts longer than a peck, and feels more gentle. Jean’s heart leaps at the realisation of what she’s actually been waiting for for most of the night, maybe longer, and lets the kiss linger, and then deepen as she shifts closer and her grip finds Terry’s narrow waist.

 

She’s kissed girls before but never like this. She kissed her best friend when she was 15 so she would know how to do it properly for the boys, and it was awkward and adolescent and broken by giggling. She pecked the girls in the Club on the lips when they were all drunk together, to say goodbye or to wish them luck. She kissed Kay once to help her practise for a role. This is definitely different.

 

Terry’s mouth is soft, not roughened by facial hair like a man, and she isn’t aggressive or controlling, but is balanced and equal as their tongues meet and dance over one another. Jean feels a foreign passion rise in her, like the heat of their enjoyable, quasi-serious arguments, only stronger and hotter and more urgent, and so she pulls Terry completely against her, feeling her unfamiliarly feminine shape next to her own, and Terry’s hands slide into her hair as she gently bites her lip, sighing into the embrace.

 

She realises that she’s quite drunk and quite incoherent in terms of sound decisions but also that her roommate is quite alright after all, and actually quite beautiful and she quite likes kissing her, and she comes to the quite surprising conclusion that if she doesn’t stop this now, she’d quite like to not stop for some considerable time.

 

Her body doesn’t obey, however, and she’s pressing Terry against the wall of their bedroom so she can feel more of her, and her hair is as soft as her skin and her nightdress and her lips, and she isn’t dark at all, she’s just smooth and elegant, she’s just _sophisticated_ , despite her current, somewhat undignified, actions. Terry’s arms wrap firmly around Jean’s neck, showing that she’s not so eager to break this off yet either, and there is not a slither of space between the two of them. Is that Jean’s heartbeat or Terry’s? Jean can hear roaring in her ears, pulse pounding, and she gasps quietly into Terry’s mouth as Terry tugs on her hair and takes her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

If this carries on, things are going to get decidedly more awkward between the two of them.

 

It’s Terry who pulls away first, but Jean moves away as well, stepping out of Terry’s personal space. Terry’s hair is mussed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the colour high in her cheeks. Jean wants to kiss her again. She stares at her for a minute, taking in the sight, before moving to her bed and sitting down.

 

“It’s probably best that we don’t, um, do that again. Or indeed talk about it…” Jean stammers over her racing heart, voice catching.

 

Terry nods silently, moving to her own bed cautiously as if Jean is a wild animal she doesn’t want to startle.

 

“It can’t be the first time that’s happened. Not in a house full of girls like this.”

 

Jean concedes. “Probably not…but I don’t want to make things complicated with my roommate…”

 

“No…no neither do I…neither of us are cut out for that sort of thing…”

 

Jean looks up, catches Terry’s eye, and they both look away again, fighting back blushes and biting back embarrassed smiles.

 

“We’re drunk. I don’t think we can blame ourselves. We don’t know what we’re doing.” Says Jean, to herself or to Terry, the other girl doesn’t know.

 

“Of course. We have had a long night full of wine and champagne and dancing. Best probably just to sleep it off.” Says Terry, rubbing her forehead and pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“Yeah. We know our limits now. We know how to stop something like that ever happening again.”

 

Terry smiles like she’s satisfied. “Yes, quite. I hope we’re not too beat up in the morning; you have dance class at 11.”

 

“Don’t remind me.”

 

Terry sighs with exhaustion as she climbs beneath the sheets. “Goodnight Jean.”

 

“Night, Terry.”

 

000

 

Two weeks later, when they find themselves on Jean’s bed, limbs and tongues tangled together with no alcohol to blame, they unanimously decide that snake can be charming, but they can also be charmed.


End file.
